


Martinet

by Mazarin221b



Series: Florentine [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bondage, Comeplay, Dom Phichit Chulanot, FaceFucking, M/M, Rimming, Sub Christophe Giacometti, Whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: Set during the party in Chapter 10 of Florentine: Chris and Phichit make a connection. Ever wondered what happened between them sitting on the sofa right before Victor meets Kevin the Asshole and Chris walking into his and Victor's apartment the next morning? Here you go.The cab pulls up and Chris meekly follows Phichit up to the front door. They step inside the hall, and Chris immediately takes off his shoes and drops his bag in the places he always had, surprised at how quickly the layout and customs of the house are returning to him.“Before we go down,” Phichit says, standing a careful few feet away, his eyes trained on Chris’s face. “Your hard limits were fluids, blood, foot torture, and earplugs. Your safeword was glace. Has any of that changed?”Chris sucks in a quick breath, stunned. “Yes, that’s…that’s right. But how could you possibly…”Phichit steps up to him and lays a gentle hand on his cheek. “I’ve always paid attention to you,” he says quietly. “Even when you didn’t realize it. Go downstairs and be ready for me. Please me. Show me what you think I want to see.”





	Martinet

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Liz (pursuitofnerdiness) for the quick, thorough beta on a dime, and for having my back this week when I needed it most. I appreciate her more than I can say. And to my fellow subbyforov darlings for listening to the whole drama - you know who you are. These last few days have been *nuts* and I'd never have stuck around to do this without your support. <3

Chris watches with careful eyes as Victor hooks a hand around Yuuri’s lower leg and leans his temple against Yuuri’s black-clad knee. The feather-like embellishments on the side of the elaborate mask Yuuri had bought for him waver slightly as Yuuri idly drags a finger along the edge of Victor’s cheekbone, Victor leaning into the touch with a sigh. Chris can still feel the ghost of that touch on his own body, the gentle pass of a hand through his curls, and he ruthlessly quashes the surge of jealousy mixed with longing that roils in his gut. 

He’s happy for Victor and Yuuri. Really.

“Twenty bucks says JJ has a new sub by the end of next week,” Phichit says, and Chris’s eyes snap to his face. Phichit’s eyes are sparkling with mirth and Chris drags himself back to the topic at hand. 

“Darling, he’ll have someone by the end of tomorrow. All he has to do is wave the keys to the Lambo around and he’ll have whatever piece of ass lands his way.” Chris takes a drink and watches Phichit’s skeptical eyes over the top of his glass. “That is, of course, until he actually starts talking,” Chris adds.

Phichit snickers, nose crinkling adorably as he does. As he stretches out to rest a hand on Chris’s knee, he realizes with a start that Phichit has filled out nicely since the last time he’d seen him, his arms sculpted and smooth, skin golden and warm where it’s pressed against Chris’s bare leg. Phichit’s smile is soft and Chris has to look away for a moment, back to where Yuuri and Victor are discussing something in low tones.

“He’s really fallen hard,” Chris says.

“Yeah. I’ve never seen him this gone.”

“Me neither. I don’t know what’s going to happen when he leaves, though,” Chris says.

Phichit sits up straighter. “Wait, Yuuri’s leaving?”

Chris goes back over what he’s said. “No? Victor, when he leaves. In August.”

“What, no, I was talking about Yuuri! Yuuri is … so stupidly in love with him it’s almost painful.”

Chris laughs. “And Victor is so in love with Yuuri. I’ve never seen him like this. I think I caught him drooling once, he was so lost.”

Chris watches as Victor lifts himself off of the floor using Yuuri’s knees as support, then blinks in astonishment when Victor turns and kisses Yuuri right on the mouth. In public. On the  _ mouth _ .

“Did I just see…” he starts, then trails off as he watches Victor leave the room with a confident swagger, Yuuri’s eyes following him until he disappears around the corner into the kitchen.

Phichit leans over and uses two fingers under his chin to close Chris’s mouth.

“Yeah, you did,” Phichit says carefully.

Chris has never, not once, kissed Yuuri Katsuki on the mouth. Fucked him, yes. Kissed him, no. And with that single glimpse of Victor and Yuuri’s intimacy, Chris can feel the tiny matchflame of hope he had buried deep inside flicker and die. He waits for that expected wave of jealousy and sorrow to rise up again and overwhelm him, but to his relief all he feels is a passing shadow of regret along with a surge of happiness for his friends.

Perhaps he has matured a little, after all. 

He looks back from where Victor disappeared around the corner and finds Phichit watching him. His eyes are dark and fathomless, the weight of understanding in that assessing gaze, and Chris can feel the hair rise on his arms in reaction.

“I’m done for the night,” Phichit says, tugging gently on the laces of Chris’s ridiculous boots. “It’s only going to get crazier once the demos are over and the liquor comes out. Why don’t we get out of here and recharge someplace quieter?”

Chris looks around, at couples broken off and making out in the shadowy corners of the room, friends giggling and laughing and teasing, at connections and bonds that he drifts in and out of like a ghost, neither felt nor missed. It seems happiness didn’t find him tonight, either.  He looks at Phichit’s kind smile and at his hand, outstretched and waiting.

“Absolutely,” Chris says, then looks down at himself, at his tiny purple shorts and thigh high boots, and winks at Phichit. “I’d probably better change, first.”

Phichit smirks, then leans forward, Chris’s legs still over his lap, and skims a hand up Chris’s thigh, right to the tops of the boots. “That’s too bad,” he says, then his voice drops to a murmur and he adds, “Because your ass looks delectable when you’re wearing those heels.” Chris’s heart swoops and flutters as Phichit untangles himself from the sofa and stands. “I’ll meet you by the front door in ten minutes,” he says, and walks away, his back straight and proud, long, lean legs encased in slim dark jeans.  

Chris shivers, and he’s not entirely certain why.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He pulls on jeans and a dark blue tee in the privacy of a back bedroom, stuffs all of his other gear into a bag and rakes his hand through his hair. He’s still got a few flakes of candlewax stuck to his skin but it picks off easily, and he’s not concerned that anyone will care, anyway. It’s just Phichit, his friend. They’ve been friends almost as long as he and Yuuri have known each other, but there’s always been a strange distance between them. Not awkward, not unfriendly—Chris can strangely talk to Phichit more easily than just about anyone he’s known—but something has kept them from getting closer. Something odd and unnamed that had Phichit leaving early, shortening conversations, keeping himself scarce. And Chris himself had never really questioned it, just knew that he had a friend if he needed one, and save two sessions with Yuuri in the playroom, he’d never been the subject of Phichit’s particular attentions.

That seems to be changing now, though. Chris leaves the bedroom and finds Phichit waiting for him by the front door, and just as he steps out of the hall he’s almost pushed over by Yuuri, dragging a somewhat confused and awkward Victor along behind him. Neither of them speak, Yuuri’s face a picture of fury and Victor hurrying along after him. Chris catches Phichit’s eyes and raises his eyebrows, and they both grimace in sympathy. Poor Victor.

“What in the hell was that?” Chris asks. “Yuuri looked like he was about to completely lose his shit. Wonder what stunt Victor pulled.”

Phichit shakes his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. You know he doesn’t get that pissed off for disobedience. Someone had to have deliberately pushed his buttons tonight. I bet someone was touching his things, you know? Too bad he’s going to work that out on Victor’s ass.”

Chris looks around. No one seems to have noticed Yuuri dragging Victor off, or if they have they’re not looking in that direction or making a point to stare.  At least, no one save Kevin Trenton, who is leaning against the wall near the kitchen and staring at Chris with a smirk on his face.

“I guarantee it was Kevin, that absolute shit,” Chris says.  Before Phichit can stop him Chris stalks over to Kevin and leans in close, almost astonished at the fury he feels burning up in his chest. He can feel Phichit’s hand on his bicep, trying to hold him, but he shakes him off.

“Chris, darling, what brings you here?” Kevin says, all teeth and false sincerity. “You still slutting around, begging for a collar since Yuuri wouldn’t give you one?”

Chris breathes in, one long inhale through his nose and out through his mouth before he leans close. “You stay the hell away from them. Don’t talk to Victor or Yuuri again. If you do, the next person you convince to hit up your dungeon will leave you locked in your own stocks. I’ll make sure of it.”

Kevin looks blasé, but a Chris can see a flicker of fear behind his eyes. Coward. “Fuck off and go find someone to cry on,” Kevin snarls, but the blow doesn’t faze Chris in the least. “I’ll worry about you when you can handle your own shit, much less someone else’s. Victor’s not going to wait around for Yuuri like you are.”

“Come on, Chris,” Phichit says in his ear, and pulls him back toward the door. Chris lets himself be led back through the entryway and into the elevator lobby, but he can still feel his heart racing, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“How dare he try to poach Victor like that,” Chris seethes, pacing as he waits for the elevator. “What an obnoxious little shithead.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Seung-gil later. We’ll get him barred. Minako already has him on her shit list as it is; we’ll probably never see him again.” Phichit looks at him, wary. “But seriously, you need to relax. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Just a pissing match, really, and Yuuri handled himself fine, I’m sure.”

The elevator doors slide open and Phichit guides Chris inside with a hand pressed low on his back.  Chris can still feel the tension of the argument set in his shoulders, and as he catches Phichit’s concerned gaze he leans against the elevator wall and sighs.

“I just want them to find happiness,” he says, looking up at the pattern of lights on the ceiling. “It’s hard enough to find, much less keep. I didn’t want that asshole getting in the way.”

The elevator chimes as it descends, and Phichit traces a finger over the number pad. “Yuuri’s happiness means that much to you, doesn’t it,” he says softly.

Chris blinks. “And Victor’s. He’s my best friend.” 

“Of course.” Phichit’s mouth tightens but then he flickers a smile Chris’s way. Odd, honestly. He’s usually so boisterous and chatty, but tonight he’s been strangely quiet and reserved. Probably Chris himself, bringing down the atmosphere with his own issues, and he quietly resolves to cheer the fuck up, already.

The elevator stops and the doors whoosh open. They head outside into a steamy New York night, the sidewalks still crowded and horns blaring.  Phichit looks around, seems to get his bearings, then grabs Chris by the wrist and drags him down the street toward Madison.

“Wait, where are we going?” Chris says, and tightens his grip on his bag as he staggers after Phichit.

“I found the best place,” Phichit says. “It’s hot as hell out here and I want some ice cream, and a place just opened up that serves kiwi flavor, and I want some.” 

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Kiwi? Revolting.”

Phichit turns and walks backwards ahead of him. “You just don’t know what’s good. Come on, they have boring stuff too, you big baby. “

“Chocolate is not boring,” Christ protests, and lets Phichit lead him into a small shop tucked around the side of a building just off of Madison and 66 th . It’s a tiny store, just room enough for four tables, the ice cream freezers, and a cash register, but Chris doesn’t care because on the freezer window there’s a label for black cherry dark chocolate swirl, and he’s sold.

“That, please, in a dish,” he says to the girl behind the counter, before Phichit can even get his order out. 

“Rude,” Phichit says, and pokes him in the side. “I was here first.”

Chris sticks out his tongue, takes the bowl of deep purple ice cream with chocolate swirled through it, and finds himself a seat. Phichit joins him with his own dish of bright green ice cream with a wedge of cookie wafer stuck in it. He sits down with a sigh.

“I’m so glad Seung-gil’s apartment is over here. God, I’ve wanted to get this flavor again for freaking ever,” he says, and takes a bite. His eyelashes flutter and he moans, the sound reverberating in Chris’ head and cascading down to his toes, leaving him staring at Phichit’s closed eyes and blissed out smile.

Jesus. 

Then Phichit’s eyes open, Chris caught staring at Phichit’s full lips and blinding, brilliant smile. Chris swallows, and he can feel a blush creep up the back of his neck.  It’s not like he’s never been caught staring before; Chris appreciates a good looking man like anyone else and Phichit is absolutely stunning. And it’s not like he hasn’t ever touched Phichit, either, or even been touched by him. But the little quirk at the corner of his mouth leaves Chris a bit fluttery in his stomach, and he wonders what those sure, graceful hands could do if he decided to use them the way Chris knows he can.

“You okay?” Phichit asks slyly, then takes an exaggerated, slow bite.

“Hm, yes. Just thinking.” Chris would rather die than explain what he was thinking about at this moment, especially as Phichit hasn’t expressed a single spark of interest in Chris in years now, but there’s something about the smirk latent in his eyes that has Chris’s hair on end. He purposefully relaxes his shoulders and smiles. “Sorry. I was sort of wondering if Kevin is still standing by the wall, making an ass out of himself.” 

“Yeah, I was thinking sort of the same thing,” Phicht says, and pokes his spoon around his bowl. “Well, really about Yuuri and Victor, and you. You really went hard after Kevin. Are you sure you’re okay with…with all of that? With them, I mean?”  He clears his throat. “I know how you feel about Yuuri, and all,” he adds, softly.

Chris braces himself, but nods. “My dear, I’ve realized that pretty much any hope or expectation I ever had regarding Yuuri Katsuki has been killed dead. In an epic fashion. Stabbed through the heart by Victor Nikiforov’s perfect smile.” He takes a bite of ice cream and holds it in his mouth, lets the tangy cherry flavor melt across his tongue as he considers his next words. “And that’s perfectly fine. I realized some time ago and Yuuri and I would never work long-term, something he knew long before I did. I’m just stubborn, that’s all, and he’s cute as hell.”

Phichit laughs. “Yeah, no kidding. And he barely realizes it, which drives me stupid crazy. But you, you’re gorgeous, and fun, and experienced.” Phichit tilts his head, considering, and studies Chris with an intensity that leaves him strangely conscious of every flyaway curl, every speck of wax on his neck, every smudge of eyeliner. “No one trying to slip a collar around that pretty throat?”

Chris chuckles. “Ah, no, cherie. It seems no one is out there who quite fits the requisites.”

“Oh? And what are those?” Phichit leans forward with his chin in his hand, and that gesture of leaning in, of listening, of wanting to know more about Chris and what he likes, what he wants, sits heavy in Chris’s stomach but opens his heart.

“Passion,” he starts, and Phichit blinks. “Fire. Not just passion for my body, but passion for life, for living. Someone who  _ wants _ me. Someone who gets me, who laughs and jokes with me. Who will take me out to dance all night then take me home and  _ wreck _ me.”  _ Something more than a plaything, something more than a silly infatuation. Something real. Something deep. _ Chris rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, that was probably TMI.”

Phichit’s eyes are huge, lips parted on a breath. “Come on, we’re going somewhere,” he says, and shoves back from the table.

Chris looks at Phichit’s bowl, half-full and abandoned. “What? Where?”

“You’ll see,” he says, and pulls Chris out of the store by the hand.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Where ends up being a club tucked away in Hell’s Kitchen, a dark, dingy, place reverberating with hip grinding, ass-shaking music and cheap drinks, and packed wall to wall with some of the most gorgeous guys Chris has seen in ages.

“What the fuck?” he shouts over the music. “How dare you hold out on me like this? Holy shit, this place is unreal.”

Phichit throws his head back and laughs. “Locals only, babe, and you’re just a tourist. Here, have a drink on me,” he says, and hands Chris something that looks like it’s probably vodka, stuffed with a wedge of lemon.  They thread their way to a small high-top table that’s just being abandoned by its occupants and claim it, Chris hoping against hope that if he goes out to the dance floor his bag won’t disappear while he’s gone. 

“Drink up,” Phichit shouts across the table. “But only this one, okay?” 

Chris nods. He gets not wanting to haul a sloppy drunk friend home, so he’ll keep himself in control. They both take a few more sips then Phichit drags him out to the dance floor where they squeeze themselves into a space in the crowd and just let go.

Phichit is a good dancer, lithe and quick, with a cocky-half smile on his face as he fends off various guys who try to wrap themselves around him from behind. The idea that anyone could possibly tame someone as dominating as Phichit makes Chris laugh, and he shakes his head and chuckles at every guy who tries to get a hand on Phichit’s ass and gets an elbow to the gut in response. 

“Damn, you’re a sexy bitch,” they croon at each other as the music picks up tempo, laughing and practicing exaggerated hip thrusts and a move Chris saw once in a Beyonce video, which makes Phichit double over, one hand on Chris’ bicep and the other wrapped around his stomach. 

“What, darling, aren’t I doing it right?” Chris cocks a hip and bats his eyes. “Maybe booty shorts would make it look better.”

Just then a guy slides a hand around Chris’s waist, his fingers slipping up under Chris’s tshirt to splay against his stomach. Chris recoils, but before he can step away, Phichit has the guy’s wrist in a lightning quick grip.

“Hands off,” he snarls, wrapping his own hand around Chris’s hip. Chris can’t make a sound in response, only watches, mouth open, as the guy snatches his hand back and shakes it before flipping them off and pushing his way back through the crowd.

“I’m so sorry,” Phichit says, and steps away. “You just looked really uncomfortable when he did that.”

Chris immediately misses the pressure of Phichit’s hand on his hip. “I was. Thank you.” They stare at each other for the space of a heartbeat, the crowd on the dance floor heating up the space and making Chris sweat. Phichit’s possessiveness rolls through his body like an earthquake, and Chris lays a tentative hand flat on Phichit’s chest. He can feel the way Phichit’s heart is hammering under his fingertips, and the flush across his cheekbones might be more than the heat.

“Dance with me,” Chris says, and Phichit steps closer, close enough that Chris can feel his body heat, smell the cologne he wears. He grips Chris’s hips with a sure touch, and guides him to the beat that thrums through the room, through their bodies, swaying closer with each pulse in their ears. 

“Do you like it when men are possessive of you?” Phichit murmurs in his ear, lips a breath away from his skin. Chris feels like he’s burning up, fire racing through his veins, scorched in every place he and Phichit touch. 

Chris tilts his forehead against Phichit’s, lets the beat lead him to press his hips against Phichit’s just enough that he can feel  Phichit’s belt against his zipper. “Only when I think they’ve got what it takes to back it up.”

Phichit shivers, and Chris revels in it until Phichit wraps a palm around Chris’s jaw and holds it steady to whisper against his skin, brush words at the corner of his mouth. “Do you think that I do?” 

Chris searches those wide dark eyes and finds only intent, and desire, and the spark of a challenge that he can’t look away from. “I’d like to find out,” he breathes.

The hand on Chris’s jaw slides up into his curls and tightens just a fraction too hard for comfort, and Chris gasps in spite of himself.

Phichit smiles, sharp and dangerous. “Then let me take you home and wreck you.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The cab ride to Phichit and Yuuri’s townhouse is quiet, full of tension where their fingers barely overlap on the back seat.

Chris’s heart is pounding almost painfully in his chest. It’s been a long time since he’s felt anticipation this strong, and as he sneaks sidelong glances at Phichit’s face, his brow furrowed in concentration as he no doubt maps out an impromptu scene, Chris wonders why. He’s been in scenes with Phichit before, with Phichit acting as a monitor for him and Yuuri, or as a secondary disciplinarian, or once, memorably, when they took turns fucking him as an exercise in endurance. But he’s never felt the full force of Phichit’s control, never met the end of his whip. He’s only seen in demonstrations the way he lovingly, carefully ties his submissives up into complicated, woven bindings interspersed with scarlet silk scarves that ripple and flutter with their struggles.

The cab pulls up and Chris meekly follows Phichit up to the front door. They step inside the hall, and Chris immediately takes off his shoes and drops his bag in the places he always had, surprised at how quickly the layout and customs of the house are returning to him. 

“Before we go down,” Phichit says, standing a careful few feet away, his eyes trained on Chris’s face. “Your hard limits were fluids, blood, foot torture, and earplugs. Your safeword was  _ glace _ . Has any of that changed?”

Chris sucks in a quick breath, stunned. “Yes, that’s…that’s right. But how could you possibly…”

Phichit steps up to him and lays a gentle hand on his cheek. “I’ve always paid attention to you,” he says quietly. “Even when you didn’t realize it. Go downstairs and be ready for me. Please me. Show me what you think I want to see.”

Chris blinks and nods. “Yes, sir,” he says, and grasps the intricate doorknob of the playroom stairs and descends for the first time in years. The way down is familiar, but the details have changed: where there were bare floors there is now plush carpeting; where there were plain white walls, they’re now deep burnt orange. The door into the playroom itself is in the same place, but there are new doors at the end of the hall that seem unfamiliar, and when he opens the door, the playroom itself is much more subtle, more beautiful, and full of equipment and furniture that Chris hasn’t ever seen.

Save the large, black leather chaise lounge. That’s always been there, one of Yuuri’s first purchases. The familiarity of it makes him ache, just a little, but also comforts him, reminds him that Phichit is someone he knows, who obviously knows him, and who wants to take care of him for tonight. 

He strips off his clothes and finds a plain chair near the door that is likely where he should put them, and as he looks around as to where he should kneel, he spies a red cushion in the middle of the room. This is new; years ago he’d knelt on a small black mat. But obviously this is what it’s there for, so Chris kneels, his hands on his thighs and head bowed.

No.

This is how he would wait for Yuuri.  Yuuri, who loves sweet, obedient angels. Who would take Chris in hand with an edge of exasperation when Chris would show him his playful side.  Who loved curbing it sometimes, but Chris never fell into the deep well of trust Yuuri had demanded of him, and now that he’s here, kneeling in the middle of the same room, he realizes that was what had driven the wedge between them all those years ago. Trust.

Chris shakes his head. He can’t do this now. He’s here with Phichit, and Phichit told him to show Chris something he thought Phichit would like. 

Chris spreads his knees so he’s balanced on them instead of his heels, and threads his fingers together behind his back. His spine is slightly arched and his dick is very clearly on display, and thank god he’d waxed for the party because he’s bare and smooth from his neck to his feet. 

The doorknob squeaks and Chris stills, eyes trained on the floor.

“Beautiful,” Phichit breathes, and the reverence in his voice makes Chris flush. “I’ve waited so long for this, Christophe,” he adds, and Chris startles enough to lift his eyes and catch Phichit’s gaze. How long, Chris wonders, has he wanted Chris in the playroom? Why hadn’t he asked before? Why…

“That’s enough thinking, darling,” Phichit says, and Chris’s thoughts come to an immediate halt. “Are you okay to continue?” 

Chris swallows. There is no way on this Earth he’d stop this now, not when it seems there might be one person out there who was always waiting for him. He nods. “Green, sir,” he says, then winks. “Is there something even more green than green? White?”

_ White. Take everything, take me, take all of me and don’t stop. _

Phichit cracks a smile. “There it is. I want  _ you _ , Chris. Who you are. Don’t try to hide yourself from me. Be who you are, here, with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris says, and cocks his head to the side. “Do I please you, like this? Should I have knelt differently?”

Phichit slips his fingertips along Chris’s straining shoulders, from one to the other, and down his arm. “It’s lovely. Your body is lovely. So strong. Especially here.” Phichit runs his hand over Chris’s pecs, over the cut muscles of his abs. “Let’s see how strong we are tonight, shall we?”

Chris shudders under Phichit’s touch, his gentle words cascading over Chris’s body and making him want, making him ache.  He rises as Phichit directs, feeling his body start to take on that strange lightness he craves, knowing that he’s going to be treated well and given what he wants, what he needs. 

“Lean over the bench for me, baby,” Phichit says, and Chris does, leaning on his hands, legs spread, back arched and ass on display. Phichit walks over to one of the tall cabinets in the corner of the room and pulls out a leather flogger and a spreader bar. 

_ Not bad.  _

Chris spreads his feet further, anticipating the width of the bar. Phichit buckles him in quickly, his hands caressing Chris’s calves as he does. 

“I thought we’d warm up just a little, first,” Phichit says, stepping behind him. He can hear the swish of the flogger as Phichit takes a few swings, and then, without any further words, it lands in a stinging slap right on the right cheek of his ass. Nice and firm, not too hard, and the leather is heavier than suede and he can feel the weight of it.

“Mmmm, yes,” he purrs. “Thank you, sir.”

Phichit drops the flogger again, on his left cheek. Chris arches into the stroke, wiggling his ass a little bit as he does. Phichit chuckles and gives him another. “Playing smug tonight, are we?” Phichit says, and runs a hand over the warming skin before hitting him again. “Maybe you should beg me for it.”

For this? On the whole, Chris thinks not. This sort of endurance is sweet and simple, and if there’s one thing he’s not, it’s easy.

“Christophe,” Phichit says, his voice taking on a warning edge. “What did I just tell you?”

Chris knows he’s taking his life into his hands when he sighs, big and gusty and loud. The flogger drops to the floor and before Chris can blink, Phichit is in front of him, holding Chris’s chin in a bruising grip, forcing his head up to look at him.

“Christophe Giacometti, are you already  _ bored _ ?” Phichit says.

“No?” Chris says, innocence personified. He flutters his eyelashes at Phichit. “But you know I can take much more than this, if you want me to beg for it.”

Phichit stares into his eyes, his jaw set and brow furrowed. Chris wonders what’s going through his head, if he’s pushed him too far, taken a liberty in his Master’s playroom that he shouldn’t have. Yuuri would have had him over his knee and beaten his ass by now, and ended the scene for such disobedience. But Phichit looks like he’s recalculating, sorting through what Chris just told him and adjusting his perceptions. 

“I see,” Phichit finally says, then leans close and whispers in Chris’s ear. “Then let’s party.”

Oh,  _ shit. _

………………………………………………………………….

Chris breathes deep and lets it out all at once, relaxing himself into the fairly interesting predicament he’s managed to get himself into. Phichit pulled him to stand away from the bench,  feet still locked into the spreader bar, but now his arms are bound wrists to shoulders behind his back, a rope attached to his wrists looped between his legs, around his cock, and tied off at the waist. If he so much as twitches his arms it tugs ever so slightly on the base of his cock, but not too much, as he’s protected from really hurting himself by the ropes tied around his waist. 

Chris wiggles, just a little bit, and hums.  _ Delicious. _

“Look at you,” Phichit croons. “All tied up like a tasty little present, just for me. Oh, wait, you need one more thing, to make it perfect.” He pulls his hand out from behind his back there, on his palm, is a red silk scarf, wound into a rose.  

“Oh, is that for me?” Chris says. “How romantic.” 

Phichit laughs. “I know you like them, you’ve told Yuuri enough times. Here, let’s dress you up a little bit.”

Chris waits as Phichit unfurls the scarf with a snap, then watches as he winds it around the front of Chris’s neck, then crosses it behind his back, and then around his waist to tie in a big, beautiful bow right over his navel. 

“Now you’re ready,” Phichit says, and nods, satisfied, before he leans forward and gently presses his lips to Chris’s in a tender, sweet kiss that warms Chris to his toes.  Phichit pulls away and swats him on the ass and Chris jumps. “At least, you’d better hope you are.”

Chris blinks at him. “Try me,” he says, and Phichit just rolls his eyes and walks over to the cabinet. There’s not much he’s not tried yet, in the five years he’s been a sub. But there’s something in Phichit’s tone that makes goosebumps start to rise on his arms, and when Phichit turns around, he’s holding…hm. It looks a bit like a small cat o’ nine tails, but Chris is pretty sure it isn’t. Butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“This is a martinet, baby,” Phichit says. “French. Used in schools to discipline unruly students up until the 1970s, if you can believe it. Explains so much, doesn’t it?” 

Chris nods. “It’s beautiful,” he says, and it is, a beautifully tooled black leather handle and ten stiff leather cords that look like they’re going to leave some marks. 

“It is. I just got it a few months ago. Not many people like it, you know? It’s intense. But you…” Phichit leans close, ghosts his lips along Chris’s jaw. “…you, I think, will enjoy it.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris replies. “What shall I do?”

“Stop talking, for once,” Phichit says, voice growing stern. “And turn and face the wall.”

Chris wiggles himself around until he’s facing the large blank wall under the playroom’s hoist, the most open space in the entire room.  Chris bows his head and waits, wondering if Phichit needs the space for a bigger swing, his cock twitching as he waits.

“The only thing I want to hear out of your mouth from here on out is ‘Thank you, sir,’ ‘Please, sir,’ or your safeword, understood?”

Chris opens his mouth to reply, then thinks better of it. He nods.

Phichit pats him on the ass. “See, I knew you could do it, sweetheart. Stick that ass out for me a little more.”

Oh Jesus Christ. He’s dragging this out as long as possible, ramping up the tension Chris is feeling before the first strike.  Chris shifts his balance a touch and arches his back, thanking years of skating training that allows him to keep his balance like this, slightly bent over, feet cuffed and legs spread, arms behind his back. 

Without warning, the whip snaps down on Chris’s ass, ten nasty little stings that make him suck in his breath in surprise. Holy  _ fuck. _

“Oh yes, that’s what I like,” Phichit says. “Come on, beautiful. Tell me how much you like it.” 

The martinet snaps down again, over the meat of his shoulder, and Chris can’t help but cry out. “Thank you, sir,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. It’s not too bad, yet, but Chris knows that a few more blows in the same places and he’s going to bruise, probably drawing blood to the surface even if  the skin doesn’t break. He’s going to be a mess _. _ But he’s not going to beg. Not yet. Not even as every blow makes him twitch and tug the ropes around his cock and have him balanced on an edge of arousal like nothing he’s experienced. 

“So gorgeous, Christophe. Your body is so beautiful.” Another blow on his ass. “Fuck, baby. Can’t wait to come on that ass…” He’s chatty, chattier than almost anyone else Chris has scened with. But he finds he likes it, like the feedback that yes, he’s making his Dom happy, that his reactions and his enjoyment are feeding Phichit’s own.  

Phichit continues to work him, alternating blows on his ass with some on his shoulders, running his hands over Chris’s reddened skin, dipping a thumb into the crack of his ass to press against his hole. Chris arches under a particularly nasty hit, the tails running fire along his skin and making his scalp tingle. His brain is almost too scrambled to remember to thank Phichit for the pain, and he can feel his legs start to tremble and tears spring to his eyes. He’s going to crash, going to collapse under the next blow; he knows as Phichit places a hand on the small of his back this has got to be the last. He should say something, snark that he’s tougher than this, make Phichit stop the scene and paddle him before Chris cracks under the strain. 

“You’re okay, baby,” Phichit croons. “Look at how well you’re doing. You know what I want to hear.  I’ll stop as soon as I hear it.”

Chris gasps. He wants to stop, he doesn’t want to stop, he wants Phichit to tell him how good he is, how strong, how beautiful. He doesn’t want to crash the scene by disobeying, and he does want Phichit to utterly ruin him for anyone else. That tiniest flicker of Chris’s rebelliousness winks out, and when Phichit snaps the martinet against his skin one more time, Chris can’t help the sob that escapes him.

“Please,” he says, tears falling freely. “Please, sir.  _ Please _ .”

Phichit drops the martinet and quickly unbuckles Chris’s feet from the bar. “On your knees, beautiful,” he says, and Chris gratefully falls to his knees, sucking in heaving breaths and watching, fascinated, as Phichit unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. “Open,” he demands, and Chris does, opens his mouth and lets Phichit push his way inside. He’s hot, smooth, hard, and delicious, and Chris can taste the salt of his tears around the slick, warm taste of Phichit’s skin.

“Fuck, Chris,” Phichit pants, fucking Chris’s mouth as his thumbs wipe the tears from the corners of Chris’s eyes. “You were so good. Such a good boy. You’re going to feel so good, baby, I promise.”

Chris sucks back a sob around the head of Phichit’s cock. Phichit  gasps, pushes forward far enough that Chris has to frantically swallow and fight himself to not choke, Phichit twitching against his tongue. He finally gets a breath as Phichit pulls back just in time to paint Chris’s neck and chest with come.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, Chris. God, you’re so perfect. So fucking perfect.” Chris pants heavily against Phichit’s thigh, trying to ignore the ache in his own cock, before Phichit slides down to his own knees and starts releasing the knots around Chris’s arms. He pulls the tangle of ropes from his arms and around his cock, and helps him lie on his back on the mats. “Lift those legs over my shoulders, angel,” Phichit says, and Chris does, just to watch in shock as Phichit drops to his stomach and spreads Chris’s ass until he can get his tongue on it. 

“Oh, fuck yes, sir, please,” Chris babbles as the hot, flickering pressure of Phichit’s tongue on his hole coupled with Phichit’s hand around his cock makes him tremble and buck his hips. He gasps and writhes as Phichit licks him with the flat of his tongue, long, wet swipes against his hole until he’s loose and wet  and sloppy and Phichit can press in with his tongue. He hums against Chris’s skin as he does, his fist lazily jerking Chris’s cock. 

Chris scrabbles his hands against the mats, trying to get a grip on anything other than the tempting fall of Phichit’s dark hair, and when he looks down, reconsidering, Phichit lifts his face from Chris’s skin. His lips are red and swollen, shiny with spit, and he’s breathing just as heavily as Chris is. 

“Next time you’re going to sit on my face,” Phichit says. “And  we’re not going to touch anything else until you come.” 

“Next time” reverberates in Chris’s head as Phichit dives back down and licks into his hole, his tongue pressing in and sucking kisses against his skin, his fist tightening over Chris’s cock. Chris’s stomach tightens as his orgasm coalesces, a tight ball of desire that leaves him panting and gasping and swearing until he breaks and comes, undulating waves of pleasure that go on, and on, and on, until Chris is barely able to breathe, his body trembling, his heart full to bursting with happiness.

“Shhhhhh,” Phichit says. “Shhhh, I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.” Phichit crawls out from between Chris’s legs, pulls Chris’s head onto his lap, and pets his hair gently. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. I’m here with you.” Chris curls into a ball and buries his head in Phichit’s lap, shivering.

Chris can’t seem to stop shaking, his body trembling with adrenaline and the aftermath of his orgasm. Every time his shoulder or hip inadvertently hits the mat or Phichit’s leg, he hisses in reaction, the marks he knows that were left stinging unpleasantly.

“Oh, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Come on, I’ll help you into the shower.” Phichit maneuvers himself out from under Chris’s body and stands, then tries to help Chris stand with hands under his arms. He’s fairly strong, and lifts Chris with ease, despite Chris’s greater height. 

Chris sighs as he regains his feet, anticipating two stories of stairs to get to the one shower in the townhouse, and he groans. “Oh, please, can’t you just get a towel? I’ll never make it up the stairs. Seriously.”

Phichit stops. “Oh! Oh, no, you’ve not been here since we built the bathroom. It’s right over there. Come on.” 

Chris walks with Phichit’s arm around his waist to the other end of the playroom, and can barely contain his surprise at the large, modern bathroom revealed when Phichit opens the door and turns on the lights. “Wow. You guys definitely leveled up with this.” He looks around at the large bathtub, a box of makeup left abandoned on the counter, and a large, glass-enclosed shower that looks like something out of Chris’s fantasies.

“Yes, shower,” Phichit says. “We need to check you over well, and you’re not going to like sitting in a hot bath right now.”

Chris nods and waits as Phichit turns on the large rainfall showerhead and tests the temperature, then strips and helps Chris stand under the stream of warm water. The temperature is just a shade toward too hot on the skin of his back and ass, and he twitches in discomfort as he endures and lets the water relax the muscles of his shoulders. Phichit steps in behind him, wraps his arms around Chris’s waist, and presses a kiss between his shoulderblades.

“Thank you,” he says, holding Chris close. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

Chris turns in his arms, and loops his own hands over Phichit’s shoulders. “You said that earlier,” he says carefully. “We’ve known each other for years, darling. What have you been waiting for?”

Phichit looks down, lip caught between his teeth. “For you,” he says. “You’ve been in love with Yuuri all this time. You couldn’t see me, when he was around. And I knew you wanted him, I knew you loved him. And I wasn’t going to get in the middle of that, as long as that was the case.”

Chris can feel his mouth open, and when he looks at Phichit’s open and vulnerable face, he can feel his heart crack. “Oh, my darling,” he says, and pulls Phichit in for a hug. “I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

“I’ve been in love with you for so long,” Phichit says, his words muffled against Chris’s skin. “Tonight is like…it’s everything I ever wanted. But I understand if it’s too much for you, if you don’t want me again, if…”

Chris stops him with a kiss, a deep, trusting touch that Chris hopes can show Phichit just how happy he is right at this moment, that gives him back some of the joy he’d found under Phichit’s care.  He nibbles Phichit’s bottom lip and Phichit slips his tongue inside to caress Chris’s own, the water cascading over them both and creating a cocoon of sound and sensation that Chris is loath to leave.

“I want this again,” he breathes, and watches as Phichit’s face lights up with a smile. “I want to try. I think…I think I’d like to be yours.”  

Phichit buries his smile in Chris’s neck. “Come on, then.  Let’s get you treated and dressed. We’ve got a shitload of gossip to catch up on. My phone has been blowing up since we’ve been in here.”

Chris laughs, disarmed. “I feel like we’d better be out of the way before Yuuri and Victor get back here.”

Phichit turns off the water and steps out, toweling himself off and lifting his phone from the counter. “Nope, not a chance. Yuuri texted me. ‘Going to Victor’s.’ Yeah, he’s not coming home.”

Chris sighs as he gingerly towels himself off, until Phichit takes the towel from him and does it himself. “Shit. That means they’re going to be fucking all night at my place. Can I crash here?”

Phichit stops toweling and turns Chris around until he can look him in the face. “If you’re not in my bed in five minutes, Giacometti, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

Chris laughs until he realizes Phichit is serious, and he darts for the door, Phichit laughing behind him.

He snatches his bag on his way through the playroom and pounds up the stairs, buck naked, Phichit on his heels, both of them giggling like idiots. When Chris jumps on Phichit’s bed and Phichit tumbles in after him, pinning him down to the mattress and kissing him thoroughly, Chris can admit that happiness may have just found him after all.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [This, dears, is a martinet.](https://www.thelondontanners.com/shop/french-martinet/) They really did use it in schools until the 1970s in France.


End file.
